


Kolniður / Shingeki no Titanic

by KMA



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic, Angst, Awkwardness, Fluff, Headcanon drunks, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad, Sexual Tension, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMA/pseuds/KMA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt, a young man seeking to spend a new life in America, boards the RMS Titanic. Little does he know, the next few days he spends on the vessel will impact his life beyond his wildest dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kolniður / Shingeki no Titanic

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to keep the historical accuracy of the Titanic as spot-on as possible!
> 
> I also apologize that we don't hear much from Jean in this chapter. As far as character involvement goes, it will primarily be Jean/Marco throughout the story (probably with gross amounts of fluff). Ymir and Historia will also be involved quite a bit, although not necessarily as a pairing. There are a lot of minor characters that you will see. Tags will update a lot, probably.

 

**CHAPTER I: VOYAGE**

April 10th, 1912. It was a mild morning, likely in the mid 60’s Fahrenheit. The air tasted of dirt and salt, and a youthful man standing amongst a group of thousands couldn’t tell if it was from the seafront or the astronomical amount of sweating, restless people.

Compressed between two gaudily clad individuals whom were conversing in an unfamiliar tongue, the freckle-faced man inelegantly shifted his boarding pass between his fingers, unfolding it and reading it over, despite the fact that he already had each letter memorized. “Hopefully the ship will be _boarding_ soon.” He mumbled under his breath, passing a thumb over the lettering of his pass. This was the trip he had been anticipating for as long as he could remember—he was going to America. He would get a new start, pursue his dreams and—

His every thought was cut short when an immense horn sounded by the harbor. At first it was difficult to tell if it was the White Star Line’s famous ship that had sounded, but it became clear as the crowds of people around him cheered that it was, in fact, the RMS Titanic.

* * *

Time did not pass quickly for the man as he watched a continuous flood of people board the ship. Glancing at a beaten gold pocket watch that was a gift from his late father, the time was now nearly 10:30 in the morning. About three hours had passed since the ship had begun to board, and the lines had been slowly making ground towards the ship.

Through the stifled crowd of people he could view what he presumed to be two liner staff that were clearly late and hurrying through impatient waves of passengers. One, the taller of the two, was more or less dragging a pretty young blonde through the masses. She must’ve been too shy to shove her way through herself.

Another hour grinded by until the bloke heard the words he had been waiting for. “Next!"

An anxious crowd shoved him forward instinctively, and he was met by a well-dressed ticket-taker that stood a solid half-foot shorter than he. The name on his suit coat read ‘Rivaille’ _._ “Give me your ticket and your name.”

Anxiety gripped the soon-to-be passenger as he politely yet clumsily handed over the ticket. “Marco Bodt.” He spoke with an air of enthusiasm, and he could hear the ticket-handler scoff.

“Glad to see at least one of us is excited,” he said uninterestedly. “Keep _moving_.”

Marco silently wondered if he had treated the first-class passengers, whom had boarded first, with an ounce of politeness, but dipped his head and rushed past.

* * *

Marco had heard of it addressed as the “Unsinkable Titanic” in newspaper columns across Southampton, and to his eye, the ship looked as if it lived up to its name. The hulking steel ocean liner was easily over 850 feet in length, and Marco felt dwarfed as he ascended the boarding steps, gently maneuvering around individuals who blocked the path.

It was another ten minutes, 11:45 on the mark, before another horn sounded and the ship pulled away from the harbor, with ecstatic and tearful passengers throwing hats and gloves to their loved ones that they would surely see again soon.

Marco showed little interest in gathering to the side of the ship, as he was leaving no one behind. Instead he moved to the starboard side of the ship, leaning against the railing and staring out at the open sea. It was a gray color, with white foam accenting the small, broken waves that had traveled from the lengths of the ocean only to be met by shore.

The harbor itself was dotted with other vessels of which were docking, and even some small fishing boats could be seen in shallow areas. Marco was so entirely transfixed by the sights around him that the Captain’s voice over the intercom made him start.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Captain Irvin Smith. I will be in charge of the navigation and overall comfort on the Royal Mail Ship Titanic. This evening we will be docking in Cherbourg, and again tomorrow in Queenstown to board the remaining passengers. Our destination is New York; we are aiming to anchor there in just over a week. Please enjoy your voyage.”

His speech was slightly cut out by static, but Marco got the gist of what he was saying. He felt a drop of rain on his arm and glanced at the sky. It was the color of the sea—indicating heavy cloud cover. Not exactly the best weather, so he decided that it would be wise to locate his cabin before the masses on deck made the same decision.

Navigating his way down to the F-Deck, Marco admired how beautifully decorated the ship was. He felt as though he was a first-class passenger as he walked by gathering halls and even a small Turkish bath. His cabin was 351, off to the left and nearly at the end of the hallway. It was surprisingly decent for a third-class cabin, however he would not call it “nice” by any standards. It had a small mirror above an even smaller sink, and five beds, which were bunked. Two of them were secured on the right wall and three on the left.

It was clear that he shared the small room with four other people, one of which had already tossed a suitcase and a white shirt on his bunk. None of them, however, were in the cabin at the moment. Enjoying his moment of solitude, Marco reclined on the lower bunk that was fastened to the right wall. He slowly exhaled, but just as he was about to relax he heard the click of the door.

Immediately, he sat up to notice another man about his age. Black hair, exceptionally tall. Marco swung his legs over the side of the bunk and ducked his head to the side, taking note of his roommate. He seemed like the serious type, but upon further inspection that did not seem to be the case.

“Lovely weather we’re having.” Marco joked, standing from his bunk to greet him.

The man chuckled, moving over to the bunk side to shake Marco’s hand. “I’m Bertholdt,” he started, “and in fact we are _not_ having lovely weather.”

Marco returned a gentle laugh. “Marco.” He, too, extended his hand and the two shared a brief handshake.

“Have you met our other roommates?” Bertholdt inquired, chucking his dark brown suitcase on the bunk above Marco’s.

“Nah, I just got here."

“Ah, I see.” He peered at the bunk on the other side of the room—the one that had evidence of someone being there before them.

Bertholdt nodded in that direction. “I bet they didn’t even bother watch the ship launch,” he snickered before walking over to the sink, washing his hands, “they must’ve made a mad dash down here and then left.”

Marco shrugged, sitting again on his bunk. “Not that I blame him. This place is a bit cramped after all.”

“It is third class, you know.”

“Well I’m not _complaining_.” Marco smiled widely before continuing. “It won’t be long before I get to New York. I’ll be starting my new life in just a week, you know.” He seemed to be talking to himself, but Bertholdt listened as if he were talking to him. “And I honestly couldn’t care less about the ride there.”

“Ah, and what kind of life are you leaving _behind_ , Marco?”

“I would call it much of a—“

The door opened again, and another tall figure stepped through. This one was blonde, and very Germanic in appearance. Bertholdt appeared to know him, as he greeted him with a positive air.

“Hey, Reiner." He gestured in the direction of his new acquaintance. "This is Marco.”

The door shut behind him, but he still kept a hand on the doorknob. “Nice to meet you.” He nodded at Marco before turning his gaze to Bertholdt. “I was thinking we should grab some lunch before the crowds hit.”

“Sounds like a decent enough plan.” Bertholdt shut off the faucet, wiping his hands on his trousers. “You can join us too, Marco, if you want?”

“Yeah, sure, sure. Just let me put on something a little bit nicer.” He was on the _Titanic_ , after all.

He turned and flipped the clasps of his small, nearly empty suitcase, pulling out a dark green vest to sling over his plain white button-up shirt.

He strode over to the mirror, fixing his hair with his fingers so it was slightly less ragged.

The face staring back at him was average. A pale face accentuated with freckled cheeks and dark hair.

“Ready when you guys are.” he uttered.

They were already at the door. Marco followed behind them and went to close the door. It let out a slow creak before it clicked shut.

Reiner and Bertholdt were already in conversation, so Marco trailed behind a bit, his thumbs in his pockets. He passed a steady line of people moving the other direction. All unfamiliar faces. He silently wondered if any of them would become familiar.

* * *

He must’ve become lost in thought, because before he knew it he stepped into a bar—it might have been a diner. He wasn't really sure. If it was a bar, it was none different than the type that he would find in some alleyway back home. Maybe a little more sophisticated. He could tell that people were already drunk—very, _very_ drunk. It was already well past noon. Marco wondered how someone could be already smashed at that hour of the day. After all, they had just boarded this ship less than an hour ago.

The party was greeted by a waitress upon entering the area—and Marco could have sworn it was the very same young woman that he had seen being pulled through the crowd earlier. She greeted them with bright blue eyes and a beautiful complexion. “Table for three?”

“Four, if you want to join us.” Reiner spoke up flirtatiously, laughing lightly and tapping Bertholdt on the back.

The waitress seemed timid and somewhat hurt by his joke. Not knowing what to reply, she turned on her heel and led the group to a table. All things considered, it was a rather fancy setup—even for a third class party such as themselves. Silverware, coasters, and even silk napkins adorned the table in front of them. Marco sat across from his companions.

Luckily dining was complementary on the ship, as Marco only had a few bills to his name. It had cost him $36 for the ticket—an expensive cost for someone in the business of cheap labor. He had saved for months.

Bertholdt and Reiner opted for Munich Lager Beer, even when Marco himself had insisted on water. They continued to carry on conversation while Marco leaned against his fist, squinting at the waitress who was retreating across the dining plaza to a taller woman with olive skin and freckles—presumably the one that had been with her earlier. She was still blushing profusely at Reiner’s flirtatious remark.

“Hey, are you even listening?”

Marco snapped out of it and looked across the table from him. He couldn’t tell which of the two men had addressed him, but with his better judgment, he simply laughed it off.

It was Bertholdt, and he rephrased his question.

“So you never told me what you did before you decided to leave everything behind in pursuit of the land of opportunity.”

He had weirdly emphasized the last few words.

“Well after I finished school I worked in a coal mine for a dollar a week. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.” Marco laughed gawkily. “Maybe in America I can put my education to good use, I don’t know.”

“So, you’re planning on making it big, then?” Reiner interjected.

“Ah, not really. I just want to help people. Maybe I can be a teacher or something.”

Bertholdt nodded his head slightly. Marco _did_ give off the impression of being someone bent on helping other people. The way he spoke and the way he grinned—it all pointed to someone who had a very gentle nature, but also someone who was bold to a degree. It was a combination that he did not see often.

By this time the waitress had brought drinks to their table, however it was not the same waitress that Reiner had so easily intimidated. It was her companion.

The nametag, which was neatly pinned to her vest, read ‘Ymir’. Marco speculated if it was her first or last name, just as he had when he had seen Rivaille’s. She did not seem nearly as timid as her friend, and she seemed as if she was ready to bring anyone down to earth with one swift gesture if need be.

As Ymir placed the glasses neatly in front of each member of the party, she shot a disapproving glance towards Reiner, who did not seem to notice.

“Thanks.” Marco responded as Ymir placed a sweating glass of water on the coaster to his right.

She gave the party about a half-hour before she took their luncheon orders. By then Reiner had had more than enough alcohol. Marco shifted through the menu. The third class items weren’t nearly as fancy as first class’s variety, but they seemed better than anything he had eaten in a long time.

Bertholdt ordered first, then Marco, followed by Reiner, who was not yet done making a fool of himself. After ordering a veal and ham pie, he rudely inquired, “Hey, why did that pretty little thing give you her waiting job? She too shy to talk to me or something?”

Marco could see a flare in Ymir’s eyes. Marco could tell that she was repressing the anger equivalent to a bundle of dynamite. She turned back to the table, landing a heavy palm in front of Reiner, bending down to eye-level with him.

“If you give her any more trouble I will see to it that you’re _thrown off this fucking ship_ ”. She said between her teeth, in the most polite way she could muster before smiling and turning on her heel. However, before she could walk off, Bertholdt piped up.

“I’m really sorry, he’s not always like this. Only when he’s drunk.” He tried to laugh it off but an awkward silence grew over the table.

“I’ll just be back with your food.”

* * *

Luckily, the mood had lightened by the time everyone had eaten the last scraps from their plates. The conversation had lasted quite a long time, and now dinner guests were beginning to flood into the seating area.

Bertholdt excused himself from the table, standing up and yawning. It had been a long day for all of them. Reiner stood next to him. Both were a bit pink-faced from the alcohol, but at least Bertholdt still had his wits about him.

“I’m going to get Reiner out of here before he gets any more drunk.” He laughed.

“See you guys back at the cabin.” Marco piped up.

“We’ll likely be asleep by then.” Reiner said, but most of it was slurred. Marco simply laughed, pretended like he understood each word, and continued to sit as they made their way out of the dining hall.

Ymir wandered over to his table once more, collecting dishes and stacking them on her forearm, supporting them with her hand.

“I believe I saw you earlier.” Marco piped up, and if Ymir was startled by the sudden conversation, she chose not show it.

“Did you?”

“You seemed like you were in a hurry to board the ship,” he laughed, “dragging your friend through the crowd with you like that.”

“Ah. I guess we made a scene, then.” Ymir glanced at her reflection in a spoon before gently setting it on the stack of plates on her arm.

“Not really, just something I noticed.”

Marco realized that he was being horribly awkward, and probably giving off a particularly creepy vibe.

“You seem rather protective of her, are you two t—”

“No, we’re just,” Ymir started to blush and looked slightly vexed, “I mean, why do you care?”

Marco realized he was being intrusive, when his intentions were to be friendly. He stumbled over his words a bit, “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I ask too many questions sometimes.” He stuttered.

“Ugh. It's fine. At least you’re not like your _friend_.” Marco couldn’t tell if she said it jokingly or with a tone of seriousness, but he just assumed it was an attempt at both.

She reached in front of Marco and stacked his plate with the rest before turning to leave. “Enjoy your evening.” He couldn’t help but thinking that she had something to hide.

Marco sighed and excused himself from the vacant table. He strolled out of the dining lodge and decided to get some fresh air on the main deck. The sun was just setting, and if he were lucky he’d be able to catch it. Rounding the stairs, he made his way over to the portside railing, which seemed to have less people. It seemed as though the swarms had begun to settle in for the night. They were likely either in the banqueting halls or in their suites. The rain had cleared a while ago, but the surfaces still held a particular dampness. The air hung thick with the smell that the deluge had left behind.

On the horizon he could see the sun, half-sunk behind flat, silhouetted waters. It was quiet except for the idle conversations of a few others on board. However, Marco did not seem to mind. He was more or less lost in thought—thoughts ranging from suspicions to excitement to a variety of other things.

This was going to be a good trip, he could feel it.

* * *

Once the sun had set, Marco figured he should return to his cabin. The ship was set to dock soon to let on additional passengers, and he was not particularly keen on the idea of being hassled with another crowd. He began to descend the stairs leading to F-Deck, taking the same path that he had when he had navigated there earlier.

Still clad in what he perceived to be a rather attractive getup, Marco walked by a mirror and glanced for just a moment too long before he found himself face-to-face with someone about an inch shorter than him. However, it was too late to stop. He was suddenly sprawled on the ground, with an angry, cursing man.

Marco’s entire face flushed fuchsia as he tried to gather himself in the hallway. He began to apologize profusely but it was not heard over the gentlemen of whom he had just collided with.

“Do you actually just walk into people? Is this a regular thing for you?”

“I—”

“You too busy checking yourself out to watch where you’re _going_?”

The man was hopelessly agitated, but he was probably blushing about as bad as Marco. It was easy to say that both of them were incredibly embarrassed by the situation.

Marco narrowed his eyebrows out of an odd concoction of sadness, anger, and confusion. “You know, it takes two people to just collide like that.” He straightened his back. “You could have easily moved out of my way.”

“I was distracted. I wasn’t expecting someone to just wander right into my path.”

Marco felt a pang in his stomach, because the words slightly stung. He wasn’t used to people yelling at him like that. He ran a hand down his face as the man carried on.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I said I was sorry!” He finally said in a raised tone, his voice cracking. He hated raising his voice. His expression was overtaken by sadness. He was just hoping he wouldn’t start to cry. He had already embarrassed himself enough. He kept fighting back tears, biting his lower lip.

Finally the man sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair, which was rather odd of the time—cream-brown and shaggy on top and a darker brown underneath, where it was cut shorter. His eyes were narrow, which painted an almost fierce expression on his features.

“I overreacted. Sorry.” His tone was flat, and Marco was unable to tell if it actually had any apologetic intentions. Maybe he saw that Marco was on the verge of tears. Maybe he thought he should stop before he made a grown man cry.

“Can we just, forget this happened?” He began, “Here, let’s just… start over.” He proffered a hand.

“I’m Jean.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my Drunk!Reiner and Sensitive!Marco headcanons.
> 
> Stick around for more. I'll hope to release a new chapter every 2 months or so. Maybe sooner, if I have the motivation.


End file.
